Say Your Vows (Against My Skin)
by Madame Baggio
Summary: Jon had married Sansa to protect the North. At least, that was what she thought. Sansa had married Jon to be protected. At least, that was he thought. Their marriage might have started for political reasons, but they love each other. Now if they'd could only say that to each other...
1. Chapter 1

**Notes: So... I am here again.**

 **I can't contain myself, I love this ship! lol**

 **So... This is basically my idea: Jon agreed to become Prince of the North, while Dany is the Queen of Westeros, so he could protect the Starks. This is after the war against the Night King, and they are in peace (or as much peace as Westeros can have).**

 **Just some healthy pining and those two being oblivious fools, who can't see how much they love each other.**

 **Mostly it started because the idea of Jon Snow on a tub sounded very sexy. I hope you enjoy it.**

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

"My Lady, the Prince has returned."

Sansa put down her embroidery. "Order someone to bring a bath to his chambers and some food." She spoke, even as she stood.

"Yes, my lady." The maid curtsied and left.

Ghost –who Jon had left behind for reasons Sansa never understood –yawned, before getting up and stretching. Arya sometimes said that Sansa was turning the direwolf on a lazy lapdog.

Sansa ran her hand over her dress, even though there was no need, it was more a nervous gesture than actual concern about her appearance.

She made her way to the courtyard to receive her husband's party. She knew Jon well enough by now to know that –while the other would prefer to eat at the halls –he would want peace and quiet.

As she took her position ahead of the crowd –with Brienne and Ghost standing guard by her side -the gates of Winterfell opened and the horses came in. Sansa took a deep breath and prepared her public face, her wifely smile.

Jon –as expected –was the first to enter with Arya right behind him. As he dismounted his palfrey, Sansa could notice the exhaustion weighing down his body.

They were gone for more than three moons, hunting down a group of outlaws that had been terrorizing the North. Arya was the one that had kept Sansa informed, writing often. A good thing too, since Jon never wrote.

Sansa cut the thought as soon as it entered her mind. They'd married for convenience, to secure the North, to protect their family. Jon didn't own her a thing, much less his heart.

Even if she was selfish enough to still want it.

However, she'd agreed with him when he said this marriage should only be political, so now she had to keep her promise, because Jon always kept all of his.

Arya reached Sansa first. She smiled warmly at her younger sister and hugged her. Arya grumbled something about food and left.

Jon stepped up to her, conscious that they were being watched by everybody. "My Lady."

He had started to call her just Sansa when they were reunited and took Winterfell back. After the wedding he'd just call her "My Lady".

He looked terrible, beyond tired. She wasn't sure how he was still standing. "My Lord." She nodded to him, then took his arm and started pulling him gently. "I asked the servants to bring food to your room and prepare a bath."

"Thank you, my Lady." He murmured, his voice low and raspy. He stretched his hand to pat Ghost on the head as the wolf followed them.

Sansa noticed that he was leaning a bit of his weight against her shoulder. "Jon, are you alright?" She asked, truly concerned. "Are you hurt? Do you want me to call the Maester?'

He shook his head. "Just tired." He mumbled.

She still felt worried, but decided not to nag her husband just a few minutes after he arrived, especially when he was in this state.

She entered his chamber with him. "Do you need help with anything? Should I send for your squire?"

"Yes, please." He looked at her. "Thank you, Sansa."

"Of course." She smiled at him, before going to the door and asking someone to fetch Jon's squire, then she left through the door of their shared solar, while Ghost stayed behind with his master.

At least he could show how much he missed Jon.

She decided to sit there and embroider for a while. She could still hear noises coming from Jon's room, noises that alerted her to the arrival of his squire and the fact that he ate. Eventually, she heard the sound of water splashing and then the door closing, so she assumed that Jon had dismissed his servant and was now bathing.

She kept working by the fire, she didn't know exactly how long. It took her a while to realize what was wrong: she'd heard Jon going in the bathtub, but never coming out.

She worried her bottom lip for a second. She didn't want to intrude in her husband's room, but it wouldn't be good for him if he fell asleep on the bathtub.

Sansa stood and hesitated for a minute. She walked to the door and listened, but nothing but silence greeted her.

She knocked softly on the door. Perhaps Jon had already gotten out of the tub and was sleeping. Maybe she just didn't hear it.

There was no answer and Sansa decided to check. Imagine if the Prince of the North drowned on his bathtub because he fell asleep on it.

She pushed the door open. "Jon?" She called in a low voice, not wanting to wake him up in case he had just gone to bed.

However, his bed had only Ghost in it. The direwolf raised his head to look at Sansa when she came in, but –recognizing her as no danger –he just lay down again. Sansa stepped into the room and –sure enough –Jon was still in the tub. She could see just his head and his back braced against the edges of the tub. He was still, so he wasn't actually bathing.

"Jon?" She called again, coming closer.

Yes, he was sleeping.

Sansa sighed, but couldn't contain a smile, even if it was a bit sad. Jon worked so hard to protect their land, to care for his people. No wonder he was exhausted.

What should she do now?

There was a piece of cloth floating on the water, like Jon had started to clean himself and then fell asleep in the middle of it. His hair was still dry, but she was sure it was in desperate need of a washing.

Sansa tried not to let her eyes take her husband's naked chest. She'd never seen Jon without a shirt, because even their beddings were beyond proper: in the dark and both as clothed as possible for the occasion.

It made her wonder if Jon had to think of someone else to touch her.

She'd never seen the scars on his chest, the mark of the betrayal he suffered. The water reached the middle of his chest, so she could only see two of them, but she knew there were more.

Sansa took a deep breath and tried to clear her head of those thoughts. She pulled a stool and sat by the tub, then gently shook her husband. "Jon?"

He startled and opened his eyes, looking around. "Sansa?" He called, his voice heavy with tiredness.

"You slept in the tub." She indicated. "I thought it was best to wake you up."

"Thank you, My Lady." He rubbed his face with his hand. "I…"

"Finish washing yourself." She directed, perhaps a bit too firmly. "I'll wash your hair while you do it."

Even in his fatigue Jon looked surprised. "There's no need for…"

"Hush, Jon." She said. "Let us finish this so you can rest."

Jon just nodded and turned away from her, picked the cloth again and –Sansa assumed –started to clean himself.

"Just lean your head back for a second." She asked gently, so she could pour water over Jon's head.

He complied, then Sansa lathered his hair with soap and started massaging his head. She watched Jon washing himself for a while, until his movements grew slow and eventually stopped, his head resting on the tub. He'd fallen asleep again.

Sansa couldn't contain a smile, even if it saddened her to see him this tired. She'd finished washing his hair and contemplated waking him up, so he could leave the tub, but noticed he hadn't finished washing himself.

He was her husband and she was just taking care of him. There was nothing wrong with that.

Sansa took a deep breath and picked the cloth. She was just helping him.

She cleaned his neck and collarbone gently, then his shoulders. She didn't let her hand venture too deep into the water as she washed his chest, because she felt like she was taking advantage of her husband.

She raised her hand and touched the cloth to his cheek. Jon opened his eyes immediately and his hand grasped hers.

"It's just me, Jon." Sansa spoke calmly.

Jon shook his head and let go of her hand. "I'm sorry, My Lady. I…"

"Shush. Let's finish before you sleep yet again." She cleaned his face, feeling a bit like a mother with a stubborn child. "Let me wash your back."

That finally seemed to make him a bit more alert. "You don't have to do that…"

"I fear that, if I leave it to you, you won't leave this tub tonight." She joked lightly. "Now let me wash your back."

Jon was still for a minute and she thought he would refuse, but –after a pause –he gave her his back. Sansa ran the cloth across his shoulders and felt them relaxing. She thought she heard Jon sighing, but couldn't be sure.

She washed his back a bit lower than she'd dared with his chest, then Jon went all stiff and she stopped.

She felt foolish and stood up. "I'll get you linen to dry." She said. "Try to stay awake while I'm gone." She said, not exactly teasing.

"Aye, My Lady."

She picked a linen up and came back to offer it to Jon.

Then he stood from the tub.

Sansa was sure he only did it because he was so tired, he'd never exposed himself to her like this otherwise. She let her eyes fall to the ground.

Jon stepped out of the tub and grabbed the linen with a low "thank you", as he walked –almost stumbled –closer to the bed.

Sansa kept her back turned to him, until she heard the sound of him climbing on the bed. She turned to find the linen abandoned to the floor, along with the shirt his squire had left for him to wear. At least he was wearing pants.

She approached the bed to check on him. He was turned on his belly and hadn't even pulled the furs to cover himself. His hair was soaking wet.

Sansa considered Jon for a minute. It was cold outside, even with the fires blazing in his room. Sleeping with his hair wet would be bad, he might catch a cold like this.

Feeling a bit foolish Sansa picked a dry linen up and sat on the bed by Jon. She tried to dry his curls the best she could, but she only had some success, considering he was lying down.

She pulled the furs to cover his body and was getting ready to leave, when he grabbed her hand. "Tell me about Winterfell." He murmured sleepily.

Sansa arched a brow, even though he couldn't see it. Jon was acting the same way he acted the three times she'd seen in on his cups. On these times, he had sat somewhere close and asked her to tell him how things were around Winterfell.

Sansa remembered these moments very well, because Jon rarely indulged on drinking and because he seemed so relaxed then, just wanting to know about the keep, about the small things.

"You're too tired, Jon." She told him in a gentle voice. "Tomorrow we can talk."

But he didn't let go of her hand. "Tell me." He asked again, his voice too heavy with sleep to be a real command.

Still…

Sansa hesitated, then climbed on the bed, putting her back against the headboard. Ghost gave her a look, before closing his eyes and sighing. "Well, one of the stable boys came to ask for permission to marry his sweetheart. Why he thought he needed my permission for that is beyond my understanding…"

She told him of light things, of small details.

Jon never let go of her hand, not even as he fell asleep.

* * *

 **Notes: They are soooo adorable.**

 **And so slow! hahaha**

 **Let me know you feelings!**

 **(Also, let me know about mistakes on my grammar. English isn't my first language, but I do try.)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes: Hello, guys.**

 **Wow. Just... WOW.**

 **Thank you so much for the amazing comments and all the kudos. I was so shocked. Seriously, I gushed about it for an hour and Ayla had to tell me to shut up... lol**

 **I am really happy you're enjoying this.**

 **On this one, we're going to see Jon's POV, more about his feelings and the backstory of how they came to be married.**

 **I hope you enjoy it!**

* * *

 **Chapter 2**

Jon knew, even before he was fully awake, that he was back on Winterfell.

They had ridden hard the day before, just to be there sooner. His men were ready to have the protection of the walls around them and Arya wanted her bed. Jon himself just wished for something different.

He'd been so tired when they arrived that he barely remembered the whole affair. He had some flashes, as if he'd drunk too much ale, even though he knew he hadn't. He remembered the gates, the tub…

Sansa.

She was the brightest flash in his memory. He remembered her linking their arms together, telling him that food waited for him on his chamber.

Then…

No. Certainly he was wrong. He'd been alone when he entered the tub, of this he was absolutely sure. Was his imagination running wild?

He thought he remembered Sansa washing his hair, his back… But he had to be wrong. She'd never touched him outside of the few times they…

He'd probably been too tired and had fallen asleep and dreamed.

He wasn't delusional, because he knew he was at Winterfell. Only here he could sleep in peace, the quiet sounds of normal life around the keep were calming to him, he could feel the weight of Ghost's body against his shin, and the bedsheets smelled of rosemary.

But today… They also smelled of roses.

Like Sansa.

The thought was what made Jon finally open his eyes, and the vision that greeted him made him wonder if he was still sleeping.

It was Sansa. There. On his bed.

He was lying on his side, facing her who was mirroring his position. He had one of her hands secure in his, but it was the only place where they touched. Her other hand was gently tucked under her face, her breathing steady. Jon noticed, by the light coming into the room that it was still early and they had another hour before the sun fully came up.

Looking at her Jon noticed that she wasn't wearing her nightgown. She was actually completely dressed on her normal clothes, like she'd fallen asleep there by accident. Even her hair was still braided, even though it had fallen apart a bit.

She was still the most beautiful sight Jon had ever seen.

Which still didn't explain what she was doing on his bed; she'd never slept there before. Even when they bedded it was on her room, and after he'd return to his cold and empty bed and wonder when things had become so complicated.

Probably around the time he found out she was his cousin and had to marry her less than a moon's turn after.

Not that he felt forced to marry her, even if Daenerys had pressured him into it. He'd accepted it because he wanted to protect her and Winterfell. He just never expected the feelings that came after. He didn't expect to actually love her.

The feeling crept up to him slowly, even though he supposed he already loved her somehow before. Not like he did now, but he imagined even complicated feelings had to come from somewhere.

And he'd been so stupid, saying this should be nothing but a marriage of convenience. He'd believed that would be what she wanted and that it would make this easier for both of them.

It didn't. It made everything so complicated, so messy. He didn't want a marriage of convenience, not with her.

But how could he go back on his word now? Sansa had agreed to it, which meant it was what she wanted, and he'd never force anything else on her, because the Gods knew that she –most than anybody else –deserved peace.

He wished he could have protected her from this marriage as well. Sansa had earned the right to marry or not, she suffered too much in the hands of so many men that Jon thought it was cruel to make her marry again.

The joke was on him, since now he was the husband.

However, he'd never force himself on her. If she wanted to keep this marriage perfectly polite and unconsumed he'd do it, for her.

The problem was that they needed an heir. Daenerys was sure she was barren, so she made Jon her heir for the Iron Throne. She'd wanted to marry him to someone else, then also marry Sansa to another man, but Jon wouldn't have it.

He agreed to marry anyone Daenerys chose, as long as Sansa could remain at Winterfell and only marry if she so desired.

Then Dany made the last offer: Jon could marry Sansa and have children with her or she'd marry both of them to other people.

He talked to Sansa and made it clear it was her choice and he would fight for her and protect her it didn't matter what she chose.

"I know, Jon." She'd replied. "And that's why I choose you."

And that had been the end of it. Daenerys made him Prince, he and Sansa were married for political reasons, even if he loved her more than he thought he'd ever love someone again.

Jon had accepted that, as a man of the Night's Watch, he'd never have a wife or a family, but in the few delirious moments when he allowed himself to dream about marriage, he always imagined he'd love this woman and that she'd love him back.

Now, the mere thought of demanding Sansa's love, made him feel beyond selfish.

But in this –almost- morning, she was here. Right in front of him; eyes closed, breathing deeply, eyelashes fanning her cheekbones. He wanted to touch her, feel her skin under his hands, but he wondered what would happen if she woken up and saw him there.

Why was she there anyway?

He didn't even realize he was staring at her until she opened her eyes, blinking slowly. Jon froze for a second, like a child caught doing something wrong. He didn't know what to expect from her, but it certainly wasn't the smile he got.

"Jon." She sighed, a dreamy, sleepy smile on her lips.

He wanted to kiss that smile on her mouth. He wanted to whisper that he loved her, then prove it with his touch.

He was a stupid man.

Jon just wanted to hold to the illusion a bit more. "Hey, sweet girl." He whispered, afraid that his voice might break the spell.

She rubbed her eyes with the hand that wasn't still in his. "This is new." She murmured.

"You don't like it?"

"I like it too much." She yawned and Jon's heart hammered in his chest.

Jon tried to think fast of something else to say, but Sansa was more awake now. The sleepy smile fell away, as she noticed more of what was going on around her. Suddenly she sat on the bed, fully focused, her hand leaving his.

Jon missed the contact immediately.

"Jon." She gasped, her hands going to his chest. "What am I…" She looked around once again, like she wasn't sure of what she was doing there. "I guess I fell asleep…"

Ghost had raised his head, probably guessed there was some human drama happening and climbed out of bed. The direwolf went to lie by the fireplace, leaving his master and mistress to sort themselves out.

Jon sat on the bed, finally noticing he was shirtless. He resisted the urge to cover himself with the furs, like he was some kind of maiden.

Jon cleared his throat. "I thought I had dreamed. About the bath." He clarified when she looked at him confused.

Sansa blushed under his gaze, her eyes going to her lap. "You fell asleep inside the tub." She finally told him. "I worried you might drown."

He snorted. "That would be a story told for centuries. The Prince that came back to life, defeated the Others and drowned on his own bathtub."

Sansa giggled, then covered her mouth, like she was embarrassed by it. Her hands went to the bodice of her dress. "No wonder I am so uncomfortable." She murmured more to herself.

"I was wondering about that as well." Jon admitted, his eyes drinking her in, even if she would not look at him.

"You wanted to talk." She informed him. "You grabbed my hand and asked about Winterfell. I guess I just fell asleep at some point."

"I am sorry for imposing on you, My Lady." He murmured, his eyes falling to the bed.

He saw from the corner of his eyes Sansa stiffening. Somehow, he'd said the wrong thing; he had no idea of what, though.

"Not at all, My Lord." She quickly got out of the bed. "I will let you rest more." She curtsied to him and Jon felt it like a slap. "I will see you later, My Lord."

As she left his chambers closing the door behind herself Jon wondered how things had gone wrong so fast; from waking up to her smile, to an empty, cold bedroom.

He truly knew nothing.

XxX

After Sansa left his room Jon had been incapable of going back to sleep, so he decided to start his day, even if it was so early.

He dressed alone –he didn't need a valet to put his breeches on –and went down to the kitchen. The servants were already working, preparing the breakfast. Jon –used to the many years he had sneaked around Winterfell's kitchen –got himself a bit of food and took to his solar.

One of the servants asked him why he didn't just ask one of them. Jon realized it hadn't even crossed his mind to ask for someone else to do something he could do himself.

Jon entered his solar and looked at his table. Sansa had left it perfectly organized for him, even though she knew better than anyone else he would make a mess of it in less than a day.

He put his food down, and let his eyes take everything. The supply of feathers, ready to be used; the inkwells, the extra paper… All within easy reach. There were letters he needed to answer, ledgers he needed to check…

Sansa made his life so much simpler with the way she took care of him.

Even though he'd planned on working and catching up on the business he couldn't focus; he kept replaying the brief interlude from earlier.

Sansa on his bed.

Her hand on his.

The smile on her lips.

He'd called her sweet girl and she'd said she liked it.

Was he missing something? She'd seen perfectly happy to be there until she fully woke up. Jon kept trying to remember the night before, but he could only remember flashes, and –even then –he wasn't sure if they were dreams or not.

Her hand on his face, on his chest, his back… Had he really stood naked in front of her?

His wife had never seen him completely naked. Actually, she'd never touched his skin either, much less his chest or back.

And by the Gods, did Jon want it.

Their beddings were always so… Practical. There was no passion, barely any feelings. Jon wanted to touch Sansa, feel the heat of her skin, kiss her lips, her throat. But she'd gone through so much! How could he demand that of her?

She had a lot of things taken from her and Jon wouldn't ask for anything she wasn't willing to give on her own free will.

But…

It was a stray stupid thought. And still…

Did Sansa know she had the choice of giving? Did she know that if she wanted Jon would worship her body and her heart?

Did she have any idea of how much he wanted to be a good husband to her?

Jon didn't think that she did.

And that… That changed everything.

* * *

 **Notes: Finally someone is thinking here! lol**

 **I hope you enjoyed it!**

 **I'll be posting on "Kiss with a fist" this weekend and some of my other works.**

 **Let me know your feelings!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes: OMG!**

 **Thank you sooooo much for all the kudos and the lovely comments! I'm so happy you're enjoying this.**

 **Oh Jon... You sweet darling... Well, better late than never, but still! lol**

 **Maybe now he'll do something about it.**

 **This isn't beta read, so I'm sorry if it's weird.**

* * *

 **Chapter 3**

Now that Jon had thought about being a better husband, he could think of little else. He wanted to show Sansa that he could make her happy, even if she had married him out of convenience at first.

He wanted to show her that he loved her.

Jon just didn't know how.

Yet.

Which brought him to the situation at hand: eating in silence, while Arya sat by his side. As he'd eaten so early, he decided to have a bit of bread and cheese before continuing his morning.

Sansa hardly ever broke her fast or had lunch with him, because she was around the keep, taking care of other things. They always had supper together, though.

So here he was, munching at his food, frowning at his plate, trying to figure out how to make their marriage work.

That was when Arya interfered. "What is wrong with you today?"

Arya Stark wasn't a morning person.

Yes, if she was on the road with him and the others, she was up at dawn and ready for anything. But at Winterfell? No way. She was growly in the mornings and people were actually scared to death of talking to her.

So the fact that she'd turned to Jon and started talking to him?

Yes, he was a bit scared of it.

"Me?"

Arya gave him a look. "Your brooding is annoying me. We just came back. Why are you brooding already?"

Jon wasn't sure he should answer this. It sounded like a trap. It probably was one.

"Jon." Arya growled.

"It's Sansa." He admitted.

Arya snickered.

Jon frowned. Many years had passed since their childhoods when Sansa and Arya fought over anything and everything. Sure, they had a rocky moment when Arya came back to Winterfell, but they were close now. It bothered Jon that Arya would snicker like that upon hearing Sansa's name.

"What?" He demanded.

"You two…" She growled, tearing at her bread. "Always walking around, mooning over each other like a pair of young fools. Two stupid…" Whatever was the complement of her sentence was lost in a mumble.

"Arya…"

"Just say you are in love already!" She blurted out, mostly at her porridge. "It is bloody obvious. It's fucking painful to watch the two of you doing this stupid dance around one another."

Jon was shocked, to put it mildly. "I… Sorry?" He offered carefully.

Arya turned to him. "You should be." She snapped, before turning back and glaring back at her porridge.

The poor thing.

Jon sat there in stunned silence for a second, until he processed what Arya had said. Mooning over each other. Bloody obvious.

Did she mean that…

Jon was about to ask Arya if she meant that Sansa was also mooning over him, but he thought better of it.

Arya was likely to stab him if he asked her something right now.

He needed to ask someone else. Someone that was close to Sansa, that would…

His eyes found Brienne, who was breaking her fast before training on the yard. She would know.

xXx

Brienne leveled Jon –her Prince –with a mild look of disapproval. Of course, she was a loyal subject, she'd never show him complete disapproval, but after his question, she thought it was appropriate.

She could see he was fighting the urge to squirm under her gaze –she was way taller than he was –but she respected the fact that he didn't.

She still wasn't about to answer his question. "It would be a poor display of my loyalties if I were to tell you my lady's private thoughts." She indicated. "My Prince." She completed after a pause.

"Of course." Jon cleared his throat. "I'm not asking you to break Sansa's confidence." He assured her. "I'm just…" He sighed. "I just started to wonder, if maybe…"

And suddenly it was like Brienne was seeing him for the first time ever. The poor fool! He was in love with his wife.

Just like Lady Sansa was in love with him.

Of course, Brienne wasn't about to tell him that. She was loyal to Sansa first.

"I believe, My Prince, that this marriage of yours means a whole lot more than you both realize." She offered him.

Jon was looking at her in shock. Good. Let him chew on that.

xXx

"He asked you what?" Sansa asked her protector, eyes open wide in her shock.

"If I was aware of any feelings you might have regarding him or your marriage." Brienne repeated patiently.

"He phrased it like that?" Sansa asked, a bit of amusement in her voice.

"Exactly like that." Brienne confirmed.

Sansa didn't say anything else, because now she was thinking. Why was Jon asking Brienne –of all people –things like that?

Was he rethinking their marriage? Was it because she was on his bed this morning? Did she show too much and now he realized how she felt?

"Lady Sansa." Brienne called gently. "I believe that the Prince is fonder of you than you think."

"I know that Jon likes me." Sansa defended. Of course he did.

"Not the way you seem to think." Brienne indicated patiently.

"Then… What are you saying?" She asked a bit confused, because she couldn't think -she didn't dare to think -that Jon could possibly love her the way she loved him.

"If I may?" Sansa nodded for her to continue. "I believe that both of you are under the impression that you are in a marriage of convenience, but you are both wrong. You both feel more than you admit."

"Jon certainly doesn't…"

"Yes, he does." Brienne cut gently.

It was not possible.

Was it?

xXx

"Oy, what's wrong, Lord Crow? Did someone piss on your porridge?"

Jon sighed. "Good day to you too, Tormund."

"Well, someone is mighty grumpy this morning." Tormund commented cheerily. "And I know you're normally grumbly already, but this seems different." The big man gave him a firm look. "What happened to that pretty wife of yours?"

Jon's eyes rounded in shock. "What?"

Tormund snickered. "You think I don't see, Snow? The way you moon over your pretty redhead? Please. It's a bit pathetic, actually."

Jon had no idea of what to say to that.

Fortunately -or not -he didn't need to, because Tormund just kept talking on his own.

"Why you two aren't shagging properly is a mystery to me." He said. "You almost pant after her every time she passes, and she watches you like you're one of those cake things she likes." He snickered. "You people are so strange… Is it wrong to bed your own wife?"

"Tormund!" Jon finally shook out of his stupor.

"What? I'm giving you some sound advice here, lad." He obviously didn't see the problem with what he had just said. "Go and shag your wife properly. Please, tell me you know how to. I mean, I know your pecker isn't all that…"

"Tormund!" Jon barked. "I can't just…" He took a deep breath. "I respect Sansa a lot. I can't just…"

"So respecting your wife down here means not bedding her properly?" Tormund asked in shock. "No wonder you people are so uptight."

"I wouldn't force my attentions on my wife, Tormund." Jon said through clenched teeth. "That's what it means to respect her."

"Force?" Tormund barked a laugh. "Force? Have you been paying attention, lad? That woman wants your attention. Preferably between her legs."

Jon had to punch Tormund at that point, but the big man just laughed and punched him back. By the time Davos came around to stop them, they were rolling around the ground like kids.

xXx

"Are you fine, lad?" Davos asked, as he observed Jon cleaning himself up.

"Aye." Jon grumbled.

"What happened to Tormund?" Davos wanted to know.

By the time Davos had arrived on the scene, Jon was already calming down and feeling ridiculous for attacking Tormund. The big man just laughed, saying this was how men expressed their friendship.

Jon didn't know why he still wasted his time.

"Nothing." He grumbled.

"Did he say something bad?" Davos insisted and Jon realized he wasn't going to let this one go.

He sighed. "He said something about Sansa." He admitted.

Davos frowned. "But Tormund respects her." He said shocked. "I'd say he even likes her, as far as Tormund can like anyone."

"It wasn't…" Jon took a deep breath. "It was just something improper."

The older man arched a brow. "Jon… What's going on?"

It was the way Davos said his name, like a concerned father, that broke Jon down. It always amazed him how the man could see through him.

Suddenly, the Prince saw himself telling him everything that had happened since he arrived back at Winterfell: Sansa, Arya, Brienne, and now, Tormund.

Davos listened to him quietly, not calling him an idiot, even though he probably deserved it, because he was acting like an idiot.

"Lad…" Davos started patiently. "You're in love with your wife. Just say it out loud, you'll feel better."

"I'm…" Jon cleared his throat. "I'm in love with Sansa."

It shouldn't be this easy, but Davos was right: he felt better. It was like saying it out loud to someone else made it right. The way Jon had been going, denying what he felt, it made that love look like a dirty secret, when it couldn't be farther from the truth.

Saying out loud felt good.

"Good." Davos gave him a comforting smile. "Not so hard, hm?"

Jon felt embarrassed by that.

"Now… Do you want to have a real marriage with her? Be able to hold her, tell her you love her…"

"Aye." Jon's voice came heavy, because there was nothing he wished more in his life than all of that.

"Then, my Lord… I suggest you tell your wife you love her." Davos offered simply.

Jon sighed. "But how do I do that? Do I just go to her and say it? What if I stammer and make a fool of myself?"

Davos seemed thoughtful for a moment. "You always were a man of action, rather than words. If you can't say anything, then do something."

Well… Now that, was a good idea.

* * *

 **Notes: Well... Now what Jon?**

 **DO SOMETHING.**

 **Also, my friend Ayla told me Tormund was a bit too crude... I don't know what you all think, but I needed him to be quite crude, so there you have it.**

 **Next one is the last one.**

 **Let me know what you think!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes: AAAAAAAAAAAAAh! So sorry for the delay!**

 **Thank you all sooooo much for all the amazing comments, and all the great support! I am really happy you guys enjoyed this piece of fluff so much!**

 **This is the last chapter so we have some love to go around.**

 **It hasn't been beta read -I've just finished it -so I hope it is readable... Enjoy the love!**

* * *

 **Chapter 4**

Sansa rested her head against the side of the tub and took a deep breath. This day had been… Strange, from beginning to end.

First, she woke up in bed with Jon. For a moment, it had been like a dream she had sometimes: just the two of them, no masks or doubts, just a normal couple together. She was almost certain he'd called her "sweet girl" and it was the loveliest thing she'd ever heard.

Then he went ahead and apologized for "imposing" on her, as if Jon ever did things like that. He went out of his way to make her comfortable at Winterfell. And she wasn't complaining! She wasn't. His care, his thoughtfulness was one of the thing she loved the most about him. He comforted her in a way she never expected of anyone, after her parents died. She just wished he'd stop treating her like she was made of spun glass.

After that, Brienne had come and told her about the strange conversation she had with Jon.

Sansa wanted to believe her -badly -but she was so wary of hoping. She wished she could just give him her heart, and be honest about what she felt and her dreams for their marriage… But then what?

What if Brienne was wrong?

What if Jon didn't really love her that way?

Shouldn't she be content with what she had? Her life was so much better now, why demand more? Why risk the security she had?

 _Because Jon is worth it_ , a traitorous voice whispered in her head.

Sansa sighed and massaged her temples. This wasn't taking her anywhere.

She heard the door open. "Millie, can you wash my hair?"

There was a moment of silence, when Sansa considered turning around, when she heard the reply, "I'm not Millie, my Lady, but I can wash your hair."

She gasped and turned around, finding Jon standing a few steps away from the tub. "Jon! I…"

She could just stare at him, as he stood there. He wasn't wearing his doublet anymore, just his shirt, pants and boots. His hair, normally tied back, was loose, letting the riot of curls to fall around his face and to his shoulders.

Her husband was a truly handsome man.

Jon cleared his throat. "Do you mind?" He indicated the stool by the tub.

Sansa decided she could be brave. "Not at all." She went back to her original position and tried to calm her heart. It was beating so loud, she worried Jon might hear it.

She heard as he sat by the tub side and Sansa resisted the urge to cover herself. Only her shoulders were out of the water, but it was still water; the lines of her body were more than obvious. But, no. She'd seen him the night before, it was only fair he took his chance to look at her.

"How was your day?" Jon asked her, his voice low and rough and so dear to her, she felt her worries melting away.

"Busy. How was yours?" She asked back as she felt him lathering her hair.

She enjoyed his voice as he told her about the little things, then she asked about the trip he'd returned from, just so she could keep listening to him as he spoke.

"Are you sleeping, Sansa?" She heard him chuckle, clearly amused.

"No." She answered, but her eyes were still closed. "I'm paying attention."

He chuckled once more, the sound warming her heart. It was so nice to see him like this: happier, smiling more. Jon had been through too much, he deserved some peace.

 _Don't you? Together?_ The same voice whispered in her mind.

He poured water over her hair, then she smelled roses and knew he was about to put oil on her hair.

"I also…" Jon paused, then clearly his throat. "I also talked to Brienne today."

She felt her heart skip a beat. She didn't expect him to admit to that. "I know." She spoke softly.

Jon chuckled. "So she told you? I should've expected that."

She felt his fingers running through the wet strands of her hair and sighed. "She felt it was the right thing to do." Sansa informed Jon.

"Well, she's loyal to you." If Sansa wasn't mistaken there was a bit of bashfulness in his voice. "What…" He cleared his throat. "What did she tell you exactly?"

"She…" Sansa cleared her throat, then tried again. "According to her, she told me exactly what you asked her, word by word."

Jon's fingers left Sansa's hair and she almost protested it. Then she felt the linen pressed against her scalp, as he dried her locks somewhat.

They were silent during the short process, and -surprisingly -it was Jon who broke it.

"Sansa." He called gently.

She turned her head to him, looking at him over her shoulder. A sudden wave of shyness had taken over her, and she wasn't sure what she'd reveal if she looked at him now.

However, what caught her were Jon's eyes: they were looking at her like she was the answer to all of the universe's questions, like she was precious, like he…

"Sansa." He repeated as he laid his hand on her nape and pulled her gently towards him. "My beautiful wife."

His voice was gruff and husky and so Jon, that Sansa felt her heart melting inside her chest. The look in his eyes made her turn more towards him, even though her mouth was dry and there were butterflies dancing in her belly.

He was taking in her face, his eyes devouring the lines of it, as if he couldn't believe she was real and was right in front of his eyes.

His thumb grazed the line of her jaw. "My sweet girl."

"Jon?" There was a question in her voice, one that barely came out.

Jon looked into her eyes and he leaned his head in her direction. Sansa didn't dare close hers, even as she felt his breath against her lips; she was scared it was a dream.

The first touch of his lips made her believe that, if this was a dream, she didn't wish to ever wake up from it.

She sighed against his mouth, as he kissed her with a gentleness that threatened to break her heart in the best possible way. His lips were careful and reverent as they tasted hers, his other hand cradled her face gently, as he kissed her, and kissed her, and kissed her…

There was no hurry in Jon now, just a deep desire to cherish this moment, but Sansa didn't like how the tub was separating them.

So when Jon finally pulled back –minimally, she could still feel him breathing –she murmured, "I'm ready to get out of the tub."

Jon gave her a probing look, probably unsure of what that meant for them.

"Can you pass me the linen, Jon?" She asked him, indicating the linen left by the tub.

He cleared his throat. "Of course."

He turned to grab it, and Sansa did the boldest thing she'd ever dared to do in front of her husband: she stood up.

Jon was sitting there, looking up at her as water ran down her body in rivulets, and she'd never felt safer or more beautiful, because this was Jon seeing her.

He got up slowly, then spread the linen for her, without saying a word, but his eyes never left her face.

Sansa stepped out of the tub and turned her back to him. "Thank you." She murmured when he dropped it over her shoulder.

"You're welcome." He said back. "Now what?"

She turned to him and offered him a smile. "Now I believe you should take me to bed."

Jon looked dumbfounded for a moment. Sansa thought it was an endearing look on him.

"Bed?" He asked, his voice husky.

Her right hand was shaking when she lifted it, her heart was beating way too fast, and there was a fear -totally unfounded -that she was making a mistake, and Jon didn't want her like that.

She told this part of herself to shut up; he'd kissed her.

So she touched his face gently, feeling the scratch of his beard against the palm of her hand. "Yes, the bed, Jon." She kissed him softly.

That probably made Jon snap out of his shock, because he put one arm on Sansa's back, the other behind her knees and picked her up in the next instant. Sansa gasped as her arms went around his neck automatically.

Jon gave her a smirk -a small one -and she ended giggling.

Giggling. She was giggling on her husband's arms. When had that happened?

Jon sat her gently on the bed, then put his knee on the mattress, but didn't climb on it, as if he was waiting for her permission.

Sansa took a deep breath. "I think the shirt can go."

Jon's smirk got bigger. "Really?" His voice was teasing.

Sansa nodded, completely serious. "Yes."

Jon pulled the shirt off, showing his chest. Sansa wanted to look at his scars, kiss each one of them, because they were the proof of how strong he was, how good, but she knew that Jon didn't like them.

She'd have another day to kiss those scars, she promised herself. Tonight, she'd let Jon be comfortable.

She picked his hand and pulled him, until they were both lying in bed, his body blanketing hers. Jon touched her face and kissed her again, still tender and sweet, making sure his body wasn't crushing hers.

Finally his hand found the know that was holding the linen together. They broke the kiss and Jon rested his forehead against Sansa's. "Can I?" He asked, his voice low, like he was asking her to share a secret.

"I…" Sansa took a deep breath. "I also have scars." She finally confided, because he'd be able to see them better now, he was closer, more focused.

"Sansa." The hand on her face made sure she was looking into his eyes now. "This isn't about the scars, or the past." He told her gently. "This is about us; you and me, and our future together."

Sansa felt tears gathering in her eyes, but she didn't want to cry and ruin the moment, so she kissed Jon again and helped him undo the knot.

His hand pushed the linen open, exposing her body to him, but he kept on kissing her. She felt his hand traveling her side, his exposed chest against hers. Jon was so warm, so strong, so… Present. Perhaps it was a strange thing to think, but what she loved the most about Jon it was how dependable he was; if he promised he'd be there, if he'd promised he'd protect her, then he would.

She'd stopped waiting for the other shoe to drop a long time ago. She'd learned that Jon was a man of his word, and even if he didn't love her like she loved him, he'd always take care of her.

And now… Now he loved her.

Right?

"Hey." He called gently. "Where did you go?" He asked her, a small frown appearing.

"I…" She cleared her throat, then she cradled his face between her hands. "I just want to say… I love you, Jon."

Jon was still for a long second, and Sansa was already cursing herself, when he opened a smile. Not a grin, or a smirk, but a full smile, where she could see all of his teeth, a smile that made his eyes shine brighter than a full moon.

Jon Snow was smiling at her.

"I…" He let his forehead rest against hers. "I was afraid of hoping." He admitted. "And you know I'm terrible with words."

"Who? You?" She teased, even if her voice was breathless with the excitement growing within her chest.

"I love you too." He confessed, in that serious tone, that was so him, so Jon.

But then he let his hand run down her thigh and settled himself more firmly in the cradle of her hips, and Sansa felt a heat pooling in the pit of her stomach.

"Let me show you how much." Jon offered.

She accepted it gracefully.

xXx

Much, much later they were lying together in bed, their naked bodies pressed close; Sansa's head resting on Jon's chest, her leg thrown over his hip. He had an arm around her, bringing her closer, while his other hand caressed her knuckles.

When did he get this fortunate? What did he do to deserve such happiness?

"What are you thinking about?" Sansa asked, her fingers moving on his hand.

"Us." He replied honestly. "This." Jon brought her hand to his lips and dropped a kiss there.

She moved her head so she could look at him. "How so?"

"I have no idea what I've done to deserve a chance like this." He told her. "But I'm damn grateful that I did it."

"No idea?" Sansa repeated, incredulity coloring her voice. She raised herself on her elbow to be face to face with him, and Jon groaned in disappointment as some space was put between them.

"Jon!" There was reproach on her voice, but no aggression. "You brought us home. You fought for us; you protected me, when I thought nobody else would ever do it. You respected me, even when it meant hiding what you felt." She cupped his face on her hand. "You've always been there for me. Why would I not love you?"

Jon groaned, then threaded his fingers through her hair to pull her for a deep kiss. They were both breathless when they pulled apart and, somehow, Sansa was sprawled on top of Jon, their foreheads still touching.

"I can't believe it took all of Winterfell telling me how stupid I am, to see this." He murmured.

Sansa leaned back a bit to look at him, eyes sparkling with curiosity. "What?"

Jon groaned. "Arya, Tormund, Davos… Even Brienne! They all informed me that I had no idea of what was going on."

Sansa giggled and dropped a sweet kiss to his lips. "Well, I'm thankful they did, then. Otherwise who knows how long it would've taken us to be here."

She wasn't wrong.

Jon rolled his body and pinned her to the bed. "Aye. So now, I would like to make up for all the time I made s wait."

"We waited together, because we were both too scared to share the truth." She indicated gently.

Jon kissed her collarbone. "That might be." He conceded, dropping another kiss to the valley between her breasts. "But now, I have some personal vows I'd like to keep." A kiss to her belly.

"Again?" She giggled as she felt his tongue tracing her hip bones.

"Again, and again, and again…" The rest of his words were lost as he dipped his head to that place between her legs and Sansa fell away to a world of pleasure.

Definitely worth the wait.

* * *

 **Notes: Feelings? Thoughts?**

 **Jon finally did something! lol**

 **I hope you enoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!**

 **Thank you for the love!**


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